Save This World
by SeltzerBaby
Summary: January 5th, 2010-Diablo and his brothers begin to infiltrate the world we live in today. There is only one who can save us-because she is the only one willing.
1. Chapter 1: The Only Thing Left

Do you know what it feels like to have the fate of the entire world resting upon your shoulders?

No. I suppose you don't.

I am the one who has to bear that burden.

* * *

For you, life consists of eating, sleeping, playing, going to school, making friends. When you're older, you get a job, get married and have some kids so they can start the whole cycle over again.

At least, that's what life used to be like.

Then horrible, fiendish creatures began to crawl up from under the earth. It was January 5th, 2010, in the middle of the worst winter California had ever seen when Hell broke loose.

Literally.

I was only thirteen when this catastrophe hit.

In fact, it was my thirteenth birthday.

But I wouldn't get to enjoy it, or even to live the rest of my life regularly, because even humans had been changed to adapt to this frightening new world.

Seven new…breeds of humans appeared all over the world. They seemed to follow certain bloodlines that had been intertwined over the years, and each seemed to originate from a certain area.

The Amazons are from Hawaii.

The Barbarians are from Russia.

The Paladins are from China.

The Necromancers are from Africa.

The Sorceresses are from Italy.

The Druids are from Brazil.

The Assassins are from France.

They were supposed to protect us from this evil.

But they didn't.

I heard rumors about small skirmishes, but it was nothing at all major, nothing that would make a dent in the inescapable darkness we all ran from. So when my school hired some Rouges to come and protect us, I thought nothing of it, thought nothing of them, even though I could see the hope that was rekindled in my peers' eyes.

We were told to be thankful. We were told to be grateful that they had come at all. But I could see that they were just as lost as we were.

The Captain, Kashya-she hid it the best. Kashya, with her scarlet cape and tall boots and fiery temper was hiding it with cruel words and vicious slurs. Charsi -the blacksmith of the Rouges- hid her fear and her loss with smiles and cheerful flips of her long blonde hair.

I liked Charsi's way better.

The one who seemed most faithless was, ironically, their High Priestess, Akara. With a purple robe that nearly smothered her in its folds, she looked frail, old, and weak. She had the haunted look of a woman who had lost everything.

The others, Warriv and Gheed, they seemed very naïve, as if they weren't quite sure as to what had happened, and the Rouges that followed Kashya were emotionless, cold to it all.

It was the 17th of January when they arrived, 12 days after the first wave of demonic creatures appeared, but by then it was too late.

Zombies and quill rats had already begun to infiltrate the boundaries of the school. Bus drivers carried knives with them, but mostly they just drove fast to escape the monsters. Even once the Rouges got here, the problem was still not resolved. Still the creatures attacked us, and still we hid.

One Rouge was assigned to each bus as a way to keep us students safe. Since my school was a 6th-8th school, many parents had withdrawn their children from school-my parents, thinking I was safe enough as a 7th grader, had not.

That was how I happened to be on bus 46 with my friends Beth, Daina, and Dominick when we were attacked.

Our Rouge was named Aliza. She fought valiantly, yes, but this swarm of monsters was more powerful than the norm. Arrow after arrow she shot, but only one of the blue-green zombies fell.

When her quiver was empty, she fought them hand to hand with the undying determination of one who has been trained to fight for all her life, but it still wasn't long before she went down.

I watched her fall, watched as the wretched creatures beat her until she was nothing more than a bloodied pulp of a body lying on the ground.

I just watched.

It was then that I looked up beyond the sight of Aliza's corpse and I saw the terrible army that watched towards us. All I could see was that army filled with creatures that only belonged in nightmares, and the demon at its front, that grotesque demon with fire for hair and four claws at its back.

They were far enough away that they still looked small, but I was sure they could see us, sitting here in our conspicuous yellow school bus.

I told the driver to hurry and he did. The rest of the ride I comforted my friends, telling them repeatedly that it was going to be okay. In some distant part of my brain, I heard a voice whisper that I was still playing the mother, still acting as if they were mine to hold.

We arrived only 5 minutes before the army. I ran to Akara and told her exactly what I had seen. When I got to the part about the fire-haired demon, her face went white and she whispered a word that I didn't yet understand-but soon it would be the word that I dreaded and feared more than any other in the world.

"Andariel."

She called for Kashya, who immediately organized a tactful retreat. The Rouges would hold the school for as long as possible, giving the rest of us time to flee. They all went to their positions, and the rest of us went to leave.

Instead I stayed, and stood at the ready by the front door. Kashya seemed about to protest and to force me back, but then something came knocking on the door. Four symmetrical knocks, one in each corner of the front door's corners.

"Come out and fight me, cowards."

The voice was horrible, rasping, burned dry. It was the kind of voice that whispered doubts into your head, made you insane, made you suicidal

It was the voice only a demoness could hold.

"I can _smell _you, all poor little Rouges, so lost, so powerless…Do you really think you can face me, Andariel, Maiden of Anguish herself? Have you forgotten so swiftly what I did to your sisters? Don't you remember how I ripped them limb from limb, tore them apart right in front of your very eyes?" Her laugh is dark, filled with an uncontrolled power and a lust for blood. I see the women around me visibly weaken.

"Oh, you silly Rouges. I am going to enjoy murdering you. I-what's this?" I heard a claw scrape against the thin medal of the door, creating a rut through which I could see the bare flesh of Andariel's waste. She leant down, and her great red eye peered in at me.

"Now you are not a Rouge. What are you-their pet? A sacrifice? I wonder what you _taste _like…"

Unwillingly, a tendril of fear slid down my spine and my breathing shallowed. Her eye held me in its gaze, and I was paralyzed. As I stared into those pools of blood, swirling with insanity, I felt haunted, and that moment would last with me until my dying day.

Then she cackled once more and ripped the front door from its hinges.

The Rouges automatically began shooting at her, but it did nothing but further infuriate the raging demoness.

She roared, and I cringed against the wall as I took in the sight of Andariel. At her ankles and wrists the pale flesh tapered off into ferocious claws with yellowed talons at the end of reddened scales. Only a small loincloth adorned her body, and even that seemed about to slide off her narrow hips. All of her exposed skin was scarred and pockmarked with memories of battles gone by. In between her bare breasts was a hole edged by dried blood where some warrior had struck home, but failed to kill the monstrous beast.

Her hair rose, flaming, above her head and even without the twisting, coiling locks, she was easily ten feet tall. But it wasn't her height or her talons or even the devilish look she wore on her face that frightened me-it was those _pincers_.

They leered at me, hung over my head with a menacing scowl. Bulbous and blood stained, they commanded attention with snapping claws. It was as if they had minds of their own and those minds hungered for blood and the taste of flesh.

I was paralyzed until I felt a spot of warmth splatter onto my chest. Looking down, I saw red drops of blood that was not mine drip from my white blouse down to the black of my skinny jeans. Lifting a piece of black hair from my face, I let my deep green eyes rise to the sight of one of those terrifying pinchers smiling above my face. The sounds of battle reached my ears. I glanced around, and saw Rouges falling with gaping wounds weeping blood.

Twin blades slid from my sleeves. I fastened each katar, and began to fight for the lives of those around me.

* * *

My name is Jenna Pederson.

I am a thirteen year old Assassin.

It is up to me to save this world.

* * *

**So i don't know if anyone reading this cares but i don't know if i should continue on with this story...if you have any opinion, tell me in a review 'cuz i'm not sure myself.**


	2. Chapter 2: The Dead And The Dying

That was a fight we had no hope of winning.

Andariel herself killed five Rogues within the first three minutes of battle. Her demon army took out seven more-and that was only the creatures that had crept in through the windows. I saw that Kashya had dropped her bow and was now fighting with a light sword, dancing away from her partners' claws, narrowly avoiding death by only pure skill. Skill was something I lacked. The only reason I was still alive was because I fueled myself with rage and the face of Annabeth.

Annabeth.

My sister.

She was only four. So strong, so happy, so filled with light…she was just curious. She just wanted to know what the strange, spiky creature in our backyard was. But then it shot her with one of the spines on its back.

Dead.

She was dead before I got to her. I remember the sight of her pale white face, her charcoal hair splayed behind her, her mouth curved in a perfect 'O' of surprise. I remember stroking her face, closing her eyelids over her clear blue eyes that had been robbed of their light.

I remember chasing after the horrid creature, stabbing it with my nails, beating it with my bare fists with a rage far beyond human until it was nothing more than a bloody corpse and my hands were coated with deep, bloody cuts from the killing spines.

It was that rage I called upon when I felt the blade of the katar rubbing the scars left on my hands. It filled me with a burning desire to fight, to kill all who had played any part in the death of my sister, my sweet, sweet, Annabeth.

I was wild, I was untamed, I was vicious-I was also defenseless. No armor, no shield-nothing more than regular clothes covered my body. But I forgot that as I twirled among the beasts. I was slashing and clawing and stabbing and slicing-the spray of blood as it hit me sent hope shuddering through my heart.

But I wasn't strong enough-not then, not for that fight. I was weakening far too fast. The demons I fought could sense this, could sense my slow acceptance that I was not able to win this fight.

They attacked with more vigor than before-my weakness had sent fire flooding through whatever remnants of hearts they had. Soon I had tiny gold men clustered around my ankles, and the faces of Corrupted Rogues and skeletons filled my eyes.

I felt pain. Deep cuts ran along my legs and my arms. I was slowing, surrounded; I was getting hit more and more often. A line of searing fire sliced open my shoulder, letting my precious blood spill onto the floor. With a haunting scream, I fell to my knees. The pain became two lines, than five, then ten-I was finished. My back was its own battlefield, soaked through with blood and heralding naught but death.

Then an enormous, hairy hand filled my vision and tossed me through the air as if I weighed no more than a feather. I felt myself being lifted and for a brief, blissful moment, I was flying above the mayhem, above the roar of the demons and the cries of the falling Rogues, my wounds all but forgotten.

Until I hit the wall with enough force to cause a brick to knock loose and land at my feet. Without my conscious decision, I screamed, loud enough that the sounds of fighting were deafened to my ears. Sharp edges of exposed bricks dug into the cuts that lined my back and it felt like fire was pouring over me. Desperate, I tried to get myself up, to get away from the battle, the blood-but my body wouldn't obey my commands. I felt warm wetness on my back and knew that if I could force my body to look, I would see a bloody, tattered shirt, red graffiti on the wall where I had rested and a puddle of blood where I sat.

But I couldn't. I couldn't even raise a finger. Through foggy, half-open eyes I saw a horde of monsters rushing towards me, blood lust in their eyes. Mouths salivating with greed, ready to tear me apart and eat all that remained of me advanced-still I couldn't move. I couldn't avoid the fate that now waited for me.

I knew I was facing my death and in a split second, I realized it didn't matter.

My sister was dead.

My parents had lied to me for years. They knew this was coming, and they did nothing to prevent it. I hated them-they meant nothing to me, and I felt nothing for them.

So what did I have to live for?

Nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

I welcomed death. I welcomed the thought of never having to deal with anything again-no more parents, no more pain, no more suffering, no more lies-just black, empty darkness. It seemed perfect, that imagined darkness, so perfect that I almost wished the creatures would hurry up and get it over with. I almost hoped that the end was swift, just so that I could just be dead, and never have to deal with the pain of loss and the guilt of hate again.

The last thing I saw was a fluid silver sword cut the air in front of me.

I let the darkness take over.

* * *

"How is she doing?" The voice was low, rasping and obscenely male.

"You brought her here less than five minutes ago-nothing much has changed." Even though the fog I listened through was thick, I could tell I had heard this voice before...a whispered name…that voice whispered a wicked name that sent shudders through the body I hadn't realized I owned.

The voices grew louder as the fog thinned. There were other noises -moans, slight high pitched screams-that also came through and the familiar voice responded quickly.

"She's waking up-hand me the healing potion and the sleeping drought. Quickly now, boy! If she wakes up now, she'll feel the full strength of her wounds. We cannot let that happen." Two warm sorts of liquids were pressed to my lips and I felt them pour down my throat.

A strange ache began where I believed I should have had a back. The ache was spread across me in strips, stopping every inch or so and then picking up right where it stopped. I moan and there is gentle prodding on the aches.

"It's alright, honey. It's not that bad. You'll be perfectly fine." The gentle voice cracks on the last sentence.

I know I should have been afraid, but I felt nothing. I was just floating in a world filled with nothing more than two detached voices and aches on a should-be back.

When the gentle voice started pressing onto the aches, I let myself be lulled back into sleep.

"Pray to the Gods she lives the night."

* * *

There was a terrible burning all along my back. I struggled and tried to get up, to relieve myself of the pain that held me down.

"No, no, no honey! You've got to keep still! Please stop moving!" A pair of frail, wrinkled hands pressed on my shoulders. "Help me hold her!" A second pair of hands grabbed me. These were larger, stronger, and able of keeping me down. I felt the calluses on the palms rubbing against my bare shoulders and connected those hands to the low, raspy voice of before.

For some reason, there was a man in the room, helping the frail-handed woman hold me down.

Akara. The woman must be Akara. She was the healer for the Rouges-I'd often seen Kashya go to her for cures her warriors needed.

But why was I there?

Then I remembered the fight with Andariel's monsters, the fight I couldn't win. The memory of my deathly injuries came flooding back to my still muddled mind.

Yes, I remember now-I was dying. Then there was the flash of a silver sword and I died.

Right?

Slowly, I pulled my eyes open and found I was inside a brown, dimly lit tent. I could see Akara's side, the rest of her hunched over my back. Sitting directly in front of me, hands on my shoulders, was a young man with short black hair and stunning blue eyes. He couldn't be older than sixteen, and yet he had the aura of one who had seen tragedies far beyond his years. Those icy eyes stared back at me, concern etched in every tanned inch of his face.

"Why are you here with me?" My voice came out low, cracking from misuse.

"Because I couldn't bear to just sit outside the tent and wait to see what had happened to you."

"No-why are you _here_? Are you dead too? This isn't what I thought death would be like…" I sounded almost wistful, and blissfully naïve.

Akara laughed at me. It was a soft, tired laugh-one I imagined an old mouse would have.

"Oh, honey, this is Ian Pyaton. He saved your life."

Staring into Ian's eyes, I could think of only one thing.

_I wasn't dead._

And I wasn't sure if I was happy about it.

* * *

**AUTHOUR"S NOTE! If you could, please review to tell me what you think(I know i said this last chapter) but i really need to know if anyone's reading this know if i should continue it or not. THANKS!**


	3. Chapter 3: Blood And Fire

"So how old are you?"

I groaned as his latest question came after me.

"13."

This had been going on for hours-Akara had told Ian to stay in her tent with me and make sure I didn't try to get up, or move, or do anything other than lay here with my head on a pile of cloth. As soon as she had left to care for the Rogues who had been less severely wounded than me, Ian had started with the questions. So far, he had only asked pointless questions-my favorite color, favorite animal, favorite book- but I had a feeling he was working slowly towards deeper subjects.

"What's your middle name?" Or maybe not.

"Hex."

"Really?" He slouched back against a wooden crate, amusement lighting up his face, making the sorrow he held in his eyes back away just the slightest bit.

"Yep."

"Alright then-Jenna Hex Pederson, what are your parents like?"

I stiffened, and let my eyelids squeeze shut over my green eyes. The breath froze in my chest as I relived the pain of that day-nearly two weeks and still it haunts me. I suppose that eventually I'll be able to think of my parents without going through this torture, but today was not that day.

"They're…" I let my voice trail off as I searched desperately for a word to describe them "They're horrible."

He leaned forward with interest; his eyebrows knitted together and he pursed his lips in a confused way.

"And no, I'm not going to tell you why. You're not going to find out my life story in this one sitting."

"When will you tell me then?"

"If we survive all this, a year from now. By then I think you'll have earned it."

"So once you get better, you're going to continue to fight those creatures?"

I lift my head from the cloth and fixed my gaze on him. "For as long as I can."

"But why?" Ian's endless curiosity was beginning to aggravate me.

"Because that's the easiest way to get revenge-I need to avenge all the people who've been killed." The lie slipped from my lips like a piece of silk sliding off a table edge. I'll feed him a tale about being angry at the creatures because of the murders they've committed and destruction they've caused.

He'll never have to know about my death wish.

"Huh." He leaned back against the crate again, suspicion clouding his eyes, but he seemed to accept my answer.

Just then, Akara reentered the tent. She smiled at me, and picked up a fully filled red vial.

"How are you, darling?" Her voice was a bird's wing, soft and delicate.

"Fine."

She nodded, handed Ian the red vial, and then left to distribute more healing remedies.

"Open up." Ian's voice was caring, low, filled with protection-even though I could protect myself. I obliged, knowing it would be useless to argue with him anyway. The red, sluggish liquid crawled down my throat, and I felt warmth race over me. I felt the wounds on my back close up just the slightest bit more, and knew that within a couple of days, they would be nothing more than ugly scars-remnants of what had come to pass.

* * *

Two weeks had passed since Andariel took over the school, and I was finally allowed to leave the make-shift camp. I stood at the entrance and looked back over the camp. Walls built of hastily chopped trees lined the small plot of land and rickety stone half-walls separated each area. Akara's simplistic tent filled with remedies and cots was sectioned off and in the most protected area, while Gheed had only his giant cart filled with wares. Centered in the middle of the encampment were a bonfire that roared nightly, scaring away the dark, and two small chests-one for my stuff and one for Ian's.

In personal opinion, I like Charsi's area best. It was open to the rest of the camp, tucked away in a corner, but it felt warm and homey. With its blazing forge and cheery owner, it was the happiest place in the camp.

"Are you coming or are you just going to stand there staring at the camp for the whole day?" Ian prodded me in the arm.

Turning, I glared at him, my gaze like fire, and strode straight into the barren plains the Rouges called the Blood Moor.

When they fled the school, the Rouges had brought themselves and the remainder of the students far away from any trace of the demons-but not far enough. The area still had zombies and quill rats stumbling around outside, but it was deep enough into the countryside that there was no sign of the creatures that were harder to kill.

I would have run over the quill rat if Ian hadn't killed it.

"What is with you today?" His voice was bewildered. "You're lost. This is not the vicious, fearless Assassin I saw attempting to destroy Andariel's minions."

I just shrugged, and continued walking, this time keeping a better look out for creatures.

"Jenna, I'm serious!" He spun me around and took my face in his hands. His hands were warm, rough and unmoving. The concern in his eyes was tangible-it seemed as if his eyes were about to burst with care. "What's wrong?"

I refused to be moved by his show of emotion. I would be the cold-hearted one. I would be the one who gave away nothing deeper than contempt. He had enough emotion for both of us. "I'm just a little out of it, okay? I've had a rough time and I don't want to…overexert myself. Now please, remove your hands from my face before I have to slice you open." The tips of both of my katars were pressed against his stomach.

Ian released me with an evil grin "Yes, Mistress."

"Don't talk to me," I added the final word with contempt "_Paladin_."

He just grinned wider and bowed, showing me the way.

As of right now, I couldn't wait to get rid of my 16 year old body guard.

I picked up a light jog and ran off in search of something to kill.

It didn't take very long. It seemed as if there were small pockets of creatures hanging about every 15 yards or so. This one consisted of five zombies, and I took care of them all. A couple slashes, a quick decapitation and a nice roundhouse kick left them all actually dead. I leaned down and picked up my sparse rewards, knowing very well that Ian was watching me, searching my movements for any signs of weakness, waiting to see me make a mistake so that he could drag me back to the camp and force me back into Akara's tent.

I refused to let him.

We scouted around the perimeter of the Blood Moor, and then went through and cleansed the middle. At the end of the day, when the setting sun was bathing the western skies in shades of fire and coal, we happened upon a pile of stone with a hole just large enough for the both of us to fit through. It smelled of rot and blood and death, and the stench leaked all the way from the hole's darkest cavern to the air around us. I cringed, and took a step backward.

"The Den of Evil." Ian looked about as disgusted as I felt. "Akara asked me to find it and clean it out while you were unconscious. She thinks that the creatures in there are planning on attacking the camp."

"So we have to go in there." It wasn't a question, and my voice was bland, toneless.

Ian gave me that huge grin of his again, and waved me towards the entrance. "Ladies first."

I slapped him across the face as I passed, but he just laughed, and I realized it would take a lot more than that to really get on his nerves. I hadn't seen him in a bad mood since the day I met him, and I was convinced that he didn't have a mean bone in his body. Even his killing of the creatures was justifiable-he was a _Paladin_ so he could kill them without being labeled as a man just out looking for blood to spill.

It didn't take us that long to clear the Den. It was mostly just Fallen and Zombies. Sure, the head zombie at the very bottom on the Den was a little troublesome, but I'm sure even Kashya's Rouges could've handled it.

I really don't understand why we found some many of their corpses on the ground.

On our way back to the camp, we were attacked by a quill rat we had missed. Ian approached it, believing it to be an easy kill.

Then it shot him with one of those spines.

Instead of him dodging out of the way, he stupidly tried to hit it out of the air. The spine went right through his palm.

"OW God da-Jenna! Kill that freakin' thing!" I obliged, and then hurried him back to the camp, holding his bleeding hand above his heart, and getting drops of his blood over me and him.

As we passed the blazing fire in the middle of camp, Ian stumbled, and accidentally ripped the spine out of his palm.

His yelp paralyzed me.

All I could see was his hand, gushing blood, backed by flames of red. His hand was the fire, the blood, the pain of the living. I stared, watching his life slowly drain away out of that horrible wound. I watched the fire seemingly wrap around his hand, sear the flesh to stop the bleeding. The fire was stained crimson, tainted with the blood of the Paladin-the pure, holy blood of the Paladin.

I snapped out of my reverie when Ian hit me with his good hand.

"Hurry up!"

So I shook my head, cleared the cobwebs away, and led him toward Akara.

"My goodness! What happened?" She was a mother hen, worrying about one of her chicks after it had fallen.

"Mr. Brilliance over here decided it was smart to try to knock one of a quill rat's spines out of the air with his hand."

Akara made a 'tsking' noise in her throat, and proceeded to fix his hand. She gave him a healing potion, sewed up his hand, and told him to remain in camp for the next two days to fully recover. If anyone else had told him that, he would have disobeyed, but no one disobeys Akara, lest the wrath of all things holy come wreak havoc on your soul.

I sat him down by the fire and got us both some stew for dinner. We hadn't eaten lunch, so we were ravenous.

"What happened back there, with the fire?" This was not one of Ian's normal questions-it was just one person looking out for another.

I shrugged "Not sure. It's just..the fire and the blood all together…it just freaked me out."

"Oh, come here." He waved me over with his good hand and I moved over so I was sitting right next to him. He gave me a one armed hug, and then left his arm around me. "You've got to relax. You're taking this way too seriously. You can't be like this during the easy stuff, because then you're going to fall apart when it gets tougher. Alright?" He looked at me, and I nodded a slow, un-resisting nod. "Good."

We lay back on the grass, with me curled up under his arm, and that's how we fell asleep.

I remember how comforted I was by the feel of his arm around me. He was like the brother I never had-always there to comfort me, to pick me up when I was down, and to annoy me to no end.

I slept with a smile on my face, and peace in my mind.

I knew it wasn't going to last.

* * *

**AUTHOR'S NOTE! Pleaseee tell me what yah think in the reviews-if anyones reading this, i want to know what you think!**

**oh and i forget this alot**

**DISCLAIMER- i do not own Diablo, or any of the characters like Akara, Kashya, etc. I do not own the quests or the towns or the classes or Andariel. I only own my characters, the plot to my story, and how i put the Diablo game in the real world.  
**


	4. Chapter 4: Fear The Maggots

**I know it's been a while since I updated, but I'm back!**

**Disclaimer-I don't own Diablo or anything pertaining to it. I only own my characters and what I do with them!**

* * *

For two whole days I was confined to the camp, as Ian told the Rogues guarding the perimeter that I was 'mentally disoriented' and not to be allowed out by myself. I happened to overhear his exchange with Kashya entailing my imprisonment. Unable to hear every word they said, but almost definitely hearing the words 'concerned for her health' and 'die if left by herself', I strode into the tent and called him out on his advice for the women warriors.

"What do you mean I'm 'mentally disoriented?"

The look on his face was priceless-full of ashamed helplessness.

"Ah-well-you know, you're sort of…what I meant to say was...You're still in shock?" Big blue eyes stretched so far with stumbling lies they nearly snapped in half.

I stormed out and ignored his calls as the Rogues cackled at his blundering tries to protect me from myself. I had learned well enough how to protect myself, even if I was a little whacked up from my encounter with Andariel and the fire incident. He didn't need to save me from anyone but himself, and that he could do by staying out of my way.

He chased after me, bandaged hand whacking against his side, desperately calling for my forgiveness. Turning my back to him so he couldn't see that I was smiling through his desperation, Kashya caught my eye with a mischievous smirk. When I finally let him in on the secret, he wasn't mad, as I'd hoped just a little bit he would be, but relieved that I wasn't actually offended.

Our two days of confinement passed pretty much uneventfully, and that in itself made the camp a prison cell. We tried to sneak out once, twice, as many times as possible, but somehow there always seemed to be a Rogue or two watching the place we planned to escape from. As our partnership grew, we began to birth a sneaking suspicion that we were under constant surveillance and that the other members of the camp were eavesdropping on us and reporting our movements to the Rogues.

"Conspiracy!"

"They're always watching us…"

Simply put, we went a little stir crazy, enough that we scared the members of the camp that we rescued from my school. There weren't many of them, but there were enough to form a formidable group that practically proclaimed us as witches and shunned us. It wasn't like we cared; we made jokes about them and taunted them with weapons and offers to fight. Any and all friendly relations dissipated in the wake of our imprisonment, and it became a war of us versus them, until the day came when we were finally allowed back out of the camp.

The second Ian took off his bandage and found the hole closed, we whooped and hollered all the way to the entrance, shouts of "Suckers!", "We're finally getting _out!"_ and the like echoing behind us. However, Kashya stopped us at the main entrance to the camp.

"I have an assignment for you. Something to keep you busy, and out of my hair."

Nodding like the dutiful soldiers we were expected to be, we waited for our orders.

"There is a fiend named Blood Raven haunting the Monastery graveyard. She used to be one of our finest captains, but she was one of the first corrupted. She is now raising our dead as zombies!" The fire that lit in her eyes proved that this wasn't just an excuse to keep us away-she really needed this done, but wasn't sure any of her warriors could stand to face the woman they had taken orders from so recently. "Kill her, and I'll allow you one of my Rogues as a mercenary-for a price, of course."

"Why should we? It's not like-" I was perfectly intent on giving her hell, but Ian smacked me in the arm and pulled me away. Just because she suddenly needed us didn't give her an excuse for how she treated us like lowlifes, mere shadows of what her warriors were.

We wandered on, passing the corpses of creatures we'd killed and adding more to their numbers. Pretty soon, we realized, there wouldn't be anything dangerous left in the Blood Moor, as we would be trekking back and forth through it so many times. When we finally came to the entrance to the Cold Plains, which we needed to pass through to get to the Monastery graveyard, there was a woman named Flavie guarding the passage.

Her face was battle-scarred, her body worn and wiry; she was not old, but she certainly wasn't young either. She seemed more towards the end of her days as a Rogue, and her job standing here was probably just to warn people like us of the dangers ahead, dangers that it was assured she would never see.

"The creatures are strong in the wilderness ahead. Be sure that you are able to handle them before you pass." I noticed she gave us an appraising look, one that mocked our youth, inexperience, and attractive baby faces, all in one second before she dropped a shield over her eyes. "I will pray for you to come back alive."

She obviously didn't expect us to, and I opened my mouth to call her out on her fatal mistake. However, Ian once again smacked me and shoved me away.

"We take your blessing with gratitude, milady." His face was solemn with justice, hers equally so.

"What was that about?" I whispered as soon as I thought we were out of hearing range. "Why aren't you letting me fight anyone today?"

He leaned his head in secretively "Because you'd probably kill them, and then I'd have to bust you out of…well, execution. Not planning on being a fugitive, thank you very much."

I punched him in the shoulder and walked away.

I walked straight into a mess of Corrupted Rogues.

They appeared surprised, half stunned and half delighted that a prize such as I had wandered unknowingly into their midst. As one body they turned and ran at me, giving me barely enough time to pull out my weapons. I ducked under one's spear and stabbed her in the gut with one katar, then beheaded her with the other. I spun into the next, parrying her blow to my head and driving up under her shield into her thigh. She buckled, and I put a blade right through where her decomposing heart was. I third struck me in my spine with an arrow, but the leather on my back saved me from dying. I ran at her and whacked her upside the head with my foot, knocking her off balance and giving me the space to slice her throat open. I whirled and came face to face with Ian, who had killed the other three in the same amount of time.

Apparently we had been making plenty of noise, since when we turned to look at the rest of the Cold Plains, there was a pack of Gargantuan Beasts lumbering towards us.

"Ugh, I can smell them already. Just perfect."

We ran to meet them in war. Most of them went down pretty easily, with either a leap and a quick decapitation or and few stabs at random places in their bodies. They weren't quite as penetrable as others we'd fought, given that they had fur that was thick as thieves and skin thicker than that, but they certainly weren't hard to kill.

Only the leader was difficult to destroy, and we ended up baiting him in a way that was tiring but effective. I'd run a little bit, keeping him on my tail, but then Ian would come up behind him and take a good slice or two. While he was distracted and following Ian, I'd chop at his neck and do some damage. We went on like this for a good ten minutes, until he fell to his big, hairy knees and we hacked his head off, which took more than a little effort.

The spoils were good, but by the time we were done, we had no idea where we were. In the distance we saw something on the ground. Assuming it was something we could pick up, we went over to investigate, ever the curious children. It was a square imbedded into the ground, covered in symbols that neither of us could understand, and dotted with four canisters made for holding pure flames. Simultaneously we stepped forward, and there was a sucking sensation, and then we were inside a tent.

We stepped from inside the leathery shadows and walked right into the camp. Pushing Ian quickly back inside before anyone saw us, I let him explain.

"It's a Waypoint. They've been planted around the world, but they've been deactivated since the war started again. I guess when we stepped on it, we activated it. Why are we back here?"

"No one knows we activated it again. This can be our secret way in and out of the camp if one of us ever gets injured again. Duh."

He stood for a minute in a stupid silence, and then gazed at me with sudden appreciation and an "Ahhhh. I see now."

"This is why you need me. I make you complete." I made an imperious face as we stepped back onto the Waypoint.

Cackling, we landed in the Cold Plains in a heap of laughter. I had stopped resenting his purity, and had accepted him as my living, breathing, annoying conscience.

We fought our way through the rest of the Plains with many beheadings and hackings and pings on a shield as arrows bounced off the slick surface and whirrs through the air as blades slipped through dead, dying, deadly flesh. We bounced back to the camp once through a portal to sell things and restore ourselves, preparing our bodies for the battle ahead.

The entrance to the graveyard loomed before in shambles, broken and decaying much as the bewitched corpses that now stumbled toward us.

"You take front attack, I'll flank you." He nodded in agreement; this would be our first major battle together and we were prepared to play to each other's strengths. He would barrel through the ranks, slicing and sawing them to pieces, while I would dart around the edges and flit around like a hornet, taking out the ones that evaded his enchanted sword.

We plunged into battle.

I trotted in behind him, making a larger and larger space between our bodies, and let him attack first. Four escaped the first blade cuts, and then I moved in. The zombies were slow and messy, but strong as well. I decapitated one first, but a second moved behind me and punched me in the ass. I mean literally, right in the ass, and it _hurt_. I swung around and stabbed that sucker three, four, five times, and he fell back into the realm of the dead. The other two I took out with dual slices to the stomach, and then when they pitched forwards, I angled my blades backwards into their spines.

I raced to catch up with Ian. He had taken out ten or twelve of the creatures, and I took off another one's legs as I followed him. By now we were nearing the center of the courtyard and I could see Blood Raven. She was tall and stately, but her limbs had fallen into desecration and her brow had effloresced spouts of blood and flesh. She smiled a broken smile, her lips no longer there, having been ripped from her face in a battle long ago, and set an arrow in the crock of her bow, aiming it right at Ian throat.

"IAN! DUCK!"

He dropped to the floor in an instant, and the arrow shot into the temple of the zombie behind him, exploding with a bang.

The viscous creature that had once resembled a woman turned on me and opened fire. An arrow flew at my face, so I ducked, and then one aimed at my right arm, so I rolled to the left, all the while advancing on her. A third went low, and I jumped, now near enough to her that I leapt at her grotesque features before she could draw a fourth. I landed within an inch of her toes, and sliced at the arm that held her bow. She grabbed me with the other hand and pulled me close enough to her that I could see the maggots eating away at the delicate skin of her nose and smell the dank scent of decay that swallowed her from the inside out.

"Come join my army of the dead."

Her voice was wet, the sound of blood as it oozed from a wound too sudden to back away from. I was hypnotized, amazed at how she spoke with a lipless mouth, her tongue spitting maggots at the ground.

She stabbed an arrow directly into the unprotected skin of my thigh.

A pain like a firecracker roared through me, and I screamed true bloody murder. I fell forward onto her as she dug the arrow deeper, twisting it, and in my desperation sliced wildly at the air, finally striking her on the head with enough force to make her let go. I stumbled woozily away, set my face to prepare for the pain, and yanked the arrow out of my thigh. She cackled at my gasp as I opened a hole in the side of my skin, the air rushing to my lungs in a sweet tortuous blow. As the blood ran out and stained me red, I dashed at her, catching her off guard and chopping her leg in half, not quite taking it off but making it loose enough to cause her to fall to her knees.

I fell before her, my leg giving out just as hers did, the gap in my thigh leaking the precious fluid that kept me alive. She drew back her arm to stab me again with a second arrow, but Ian was behind her and then her head was gone, and I was the last thing her dying eyes saw, expression contorted in pain and the knowledge that all is lost.

"Oh, god-Jenna!"

A clatter as a sword dropped, a swish as a young man fell to his knees to catch me, pressing his palm to the gash, trying to stop the blood flowing.

Suddenly I was up in the air, floating in a pair of arms that were ethereal and weightless. All I could feel was a twinge in my thigh; all I could see was a pair of eyes blue as tropical waters, filled with worry, saturated with tears.

"Why do you always have to do this to me, Jenna?"

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